


Bond and Q- Behind Closed Doors

by NiftyNicky21



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiftyNicky21/pseuds/NiftyNicky21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q wakes to find Bond at his front door with a bottle of scotch. Bond, already intoxicated, makes himself at home in more ways than one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chinese Take-Out and a Bottle of Scotch

            The knocking on his front door roused Q from his slumber on the couch. He stretched, yawning, and closed the laptop on his chest. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but this wasn’t the first time this had happened since his employment with MI6. Jazz music filled the room along with the smell of Chinese take-out which sat barely touched on the coffee table. The knock came again, a little louder this time. He turned down the volume of his stereo and put the take-out in the fridge before heading towards the front door. His feet padded along the hardwood floor. He squinted through the peephole and was surprised to find Agent James Bond leaned against the door frame with a bottle of scotch in hand. He knocked on the door again.

“Q, I know you’re in there.” He waved the bottle in front of the peephole with a smirk on his face. “Q?” Q unlocked the door, but left the chain on, and opened the door. “There you are; I thought I was going to have to break down the door.” Q grinned He wasn’t entirely sure what Bond was up to, but from the sly, lustful look in the man’s blue eyes, he could venture a couple guesses.

“Who says you don’t have to, yet? I don’t normally take callers in this late at night.” He started to close the door. His heart leapt in his chest as Bond slammed his hand against the door.

“Then it’s a good thing it’s early morning. It would be a shame to waste this scotch, boy. Let me in.” Q closed the door enough to unlatch it. He could hardly move back fast enough, as Bond swung the door open and entered, throwing his arm around Q’s shoulders and ushering him into the living room, after kicking the front door closed. Q could smell the alcohol on the agent’s breath.

“Bond, you’re drunk.” Q ducked under Bond’s arm and walked towards the kitchen to grab a couple of glasses.

“Please, call me James. And I’m not drunk, merely intoxicated with life’s wonders.” He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a drink. “Nice pajamas, by the way.” Q froze as he reached up into the cupboard, suddenly feeling very exposed in his cotton, blue pinstripe pajamas. He snatched the glasses from the shelf and set them on the coffee table next to his laptop, then sat in the armchair he rarely used. James poured one glass and slid it towards Q, then took another swig out of the bottle. Q sipped from the glass, letting the liquid slide down his throat and warm his stomach. He hadn’t noticed the tremble in his hands until he set his glass back down.

“Nervous?” James set the bottle next to the empty glass and leaned forward on the couch.

“No.” Q replied. His bravado wasn’t going to last long around this man. It was so much easier to be confident around the agent in the office, where he had a sense of control over his computers and gadgets. Here, he felt exposed and out of his element. He had told M that the apartment was too big for just him, but she insisted that it was in his contract. He spent most of his time at the office anyway. “Just trying to figure out what you’re doing here.” James laughed.

“I was thinking about you. I wanted to show you my appreciation for my new toys. The gun’s already saved my life once.” He leaned over the arm of the couch. Q noticed the first two buttons of the man’s shirt were undone, exposing part of his bare chest. He felt the scotch churn, warm in his stomach, at the sight.

“Well, you’re welcome.” Q downed the rest of his glass in an effort to calm his nerves. He pulled at his collar. It, suddenly, felt extremely warm in the apartment.

“Don’t be shy, boy.” James’ tone was more serious. “I owe you my life. Don’t think for a minute I haven’t seen the way you look at me in the office. I’ve let you brush past me on purpose, so you could feel my skin on yours.” Q closed his eyes; he could feel his face flush a bright crimson. He had thought it was only a coincidence. The man was a legend among agents and women. He’d heard water cooler gossip of the great Bond’s sexual prowess, but always with the ladies. He felt something on his arm and looked down at the agent’s hand. His skin was smoother than he’d imagined considering the man’s active lifestyle. He let James pull him up out of the uncomfortable armchair, so he could stand in front of the agent.

“I-I,” Q mumbled. James shushed him and began unbuttoning his pajama shirt. Q helped, starting from the top. His shaking hands met Bond’s halfway. “James, why?” The man did not reply, just slid his hands up his abdomen and chest, snaking them around his back, and pushing the shirt to the floor. Goosebumps covered his arms as the agent straddled him across his lap and drew Q’s lips to his own.

The kiss tasted of scotch, sweat, tongue, and perfection. Q gasped as James’ fingers knotted in his hair and tugged. Q slid his hands inside of James’ gray suit and pulled it down around the man’s shoulder, forcing him to pull his hair harder, James loosened his grip, let his lips slide off of Q’s, and leaned back, letting him pull the jacket off. Q struggled with the buttons on the man’s shirt, his breathing heavy. James chuckled at his efforts. Frustrated, he pulled at the shirt, popping buttons off, exposing James’ chest, earning a surprised gasp from the agent. James bit into his chest. Q moaned as the bite turned into kisses and then into a tongue circling his right nipple. He pulled his fingers along James’ ribs and leaned back, enjoying every second of the man’s mouth. Suddenly, his touch was gone Q looked down into Bond’s wild blue eyes.

“So is this what you want?” The man’s eyebrow rose, slyly. Q leaned in to kiss the man’s neck, but his strong arms held him back. The blue eyes searched his own. “Answer me.” Q leaned in slowly towards the man’s ear.

“More than I had thought I wanted it.” Q whispered, letting his lips brush against his ear His tongue darted up his earlobe and he felt pressure from the man’s trousers push up against his cotton pajama bottoms.

“Good.” James’ arms wrapped around him and Q kissed into the man’s neck and bit down on his shoulder. His arms clasped at his sturdy torso as James stood, taking Q with him. An excited laugh left his lips and he wrapped his legs around the agent’s hips. “Which way to the bedroom, pup?”

“End of the hall, last door on the right,” Q breathed into James’ ear. His heart was pounding. He had never felt so light, dizzy, and full of emotion. With his right arm firm around James’ shoulder, Q slid his left hand down the man’s spine stopping to trace circles in the small of his back before pushing his fingertips under his pants and the seam of his boxers to explore the smooth flesh of his ass. He heard James’ breath shudder at the touch His fingers slid along the rise, then down towards the crack of his buttocks. Sweat broke upon James’ brow.

“Slow down, pup, or I’m going to fuck you on the floor of this hallway.” Q slid his hand back up the man’s spine and kissed his mouth. Those blue eyes were primal with lust.

“Who says I don’t want you to?” Q felt a sly grin creep onto his face.

“My back and my ego,” Bond smiled and opened the door to Q’s room.

“Are you saying you’re not as spry as you used to be?” Q chided before running his tongue along a scar on the man’s shoulder.

“Oh, I’m spry. Here,” James motioned for Q to release his grip on his hips. Q relented and took a few dizzy steps back from the man. “I’m just not one of those awkward girls fondled in the back of cars. If I sleep with you, it’s not going to be some sloppy hand job.” James sat on the bed, his erection still straining against his trousers. Q felt his own cock twitch at the sight. James grinned. “Touch yourself.” His face flushed again. He hadn’t felt this naked since he had been stripped down for a chemical shower in college. “Go on.” He started to pull his bottoms off, but was stopped short. “No, leave them on. I want to watch you with your hands in your trousers. He pulled seductively at the pants strings around his waist in an effort to hide his embarrassment. The trembling in his hands stopped as he traced a line down the middle of his chest, slowly down until his hand slid under his pants and across his semi-erect cock. Eyes closed, he imagined James’ hand were his own and stifled a moan as his fingers explored his shaft and balls.

“Do you like this?” Q asked between quick breaths as he slowly stroked his cock. He opened his eyes to see James’ hand gripping desperately to the blankets, resisting the urge to touch himself

“More than I thought I would.” James beckoned him to the bed with a finger. Q walked slowly towards him, his hand still in his pants. He stopped just out of arm’s reach. “You little tease,” James stood and leaned in, planting his lips on his collarbone, then dragging his tongue down his quivering body. His tongue darted in and out of his navel. Q watched the saliva glisten off the man’s tongue and run down his body.

            James pulled at the pajamas string, and then pulled the pants all the way down. Q stepped out of the pants, suddenly secure in his nudity. The most powerful agent in MI6 was on his knees before him. His blood pounded, pulse thrumming against his temple, neck, and cock. His ears began to ring as James’ hands grasped at his buttocks and his lips trailed bites and kisses down his hip bones. Q’s hands grasped at the agent’s back, steadying him. An electric shock ran up his spine as James’ tongue licked up the underside of his shaft. A low moan escaped his throat as he felt the heat of the man’s mouth wrap around the head of his cock. The heat moved once all the way down, then backed away. James’ hand came around to his face and he stuck two fingers in his mouth, sucking provocatively.

“Now who’s the tease?” Q rasped, running his hands through James’ hair. He laughed when the agent flipped him a bird glistening with spit. The heat wrapped around his cock again, this time moving in a steady, gentle rhythm. James’ tongue swirled expertly in his mouth, pulling along the veins and teasing against the head. He tensed as he felt James’ hands separating his cheeks, the wet fingers trailing in the crack towards his hole. He tried to focus on James’ mouth and relax, but when the index finger pushed against his entrance, he bucked forwards in surprise.

“I’m sorry.” Q looked down, worried, but only found an understanding smile.

“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?” The agent kissed the head of his cock.

“No. I-I,” His voice trembled. He never really talked about sex with anyone. Then again, he never really talked with anyone if it wasn’t about a mission or computer. “I was only ever with one girl before, an intoxicated one night stand.” Shame flushed Q’s face.

“Oh, my dear pup,” James stood and kissed his sweaty brow. His lips found James’ and the ferocity of the kiss intensified. James pulled Q towards him onto the bed. “You’re in for a treat.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small black bottle and a couple of condoms, setting them on the nightstand. Q straddled the man’s lap and began pulling at the belt buckle and fly. James’ lips were on his neck and his fingers curled into his hair again. Q tugged the belt loose and let it clatter to the floor. James pushed himself further back on the bed, letting Q pull his pants and boxers off in the process. James hooked his arms under Q’s and pulled him up against his nakedness, mashing his lips against his in another breathtaking kiss. James flipped him over, pinning him to the bed. The man kissed his way back down Q’s sweaty body and began sucking his cock again. Q grabbed at the blankets and felt his eyes rolling back in his head. His moans were even louder this time. James paused and grabbed the black bottle, squeezing a little onto his hand and began rubbing his fingers together. He ran his finger over his asshole leaving a slick of cold lube behind. James kissed Q’s hipbone.

“Now, just relax.” Q felt a little pressure, then a foreign wiggling inside him, sparking like lightning. His breath caught, but he exhaled slowly and tried to focus on the sensation. The finger traced small circles just inside his anus Just as he was acclimating to the first finger, James slid in a second, earning a gasp and moan from Q. “It’s okay.” James’ voice rumbled. “Just breathe.” The fingers remained stationary until Q’s breathing evened out. As they began to move sometimes in tandem, sometimes apart, James’ other hand wrapped around Q’s cock and began to stroke up and down. His fingers moved faster in Q’s ass, pushing upwards, searching until they found a magic spot. His eyes felt as if they were going to bulge out of his skull. Pre-cum leaked out of the top of his cock which James lapped up eagerly. With stars swimming in his vision, he began to move his hips with the motion of the strokes.

“Please,” He begged.

“Please, what?” James looked up at him, his blue eyes pools of seduction.

“Please, fuck me.” Q’s heart thudded in his chest as the grin spread across James’ face. His legs trembled as he watched the man roll a condom on and then lube himself. The cold slick against his pucker was more exciting this time. James placed Q’s legs on each side of his hips and positioned himself.

“Now take a deep breath and relax.” James pushed slowly, only pressing into Q each time he exhaled. The pressure welled inside him. James leaned forward, moving his hips in slowly. He kissed up into James’ neck, trying to move in rhythm with him. His stomach tightened in an all too familiar feeling, causing him to panic.

“James, I-I’m,” He was stopped by a finger on his lips. James began to thrust harder into him.

“Go ahead. I’m close as well.” Q bucked with James, feeling himself well up and finally spill over, cum shooting across his chest. True to his word, James groaned and trembled hardly a minute after Q and collapsed on top of him. They lay there, Q’s legs trembling and James’ heavy breathing, combined in a sweaty mess of limbs. James pulled slowly out of Q and disposed of the condom. Q sat up slowly, admiring the way James' muscles moved beneath his skin, the way his ass bounced with each step. James offered him a couple of tissues after dipping a finger in Q’s seed, sampling his work. Somewhat cleaned up, James climbed under the blankets and patted the bed beside him.

“You’re spending the night?” He climbed into bed next to him and curled up against his chest.

“Don’t really have anywhere else to be. Besides, I have a delicious young pup to spend the night with, why would I want to be anywhere else?” Bond kissed Q’s brow. They lay in silence, Q listening to the beat of James’ heart and tracing his finger around the scar of a bullet wound.

“Q,” Bond spoke softly, muffled by his hair. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“What do you want to know?” Q asked, wondering what the man wanted to know after seeing every inch of him,

“What’s your real name?” Bond kissed the top of his head. “You know mine. And I want something better than Q to call you the next time I fuck you.” A flush came back into Q’s cheeks. Apparently this was going to be a regular thing whether he liked it or not.

“Quincy,” He replied. “Quincy Oliver Reed.”

“Quincy,” Bond repeated. “I like it.”


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q wasn't prepared for waking up to 007 in his apartment.

            Q’s morning alarm sounded, disturbing his dreamless sleep. He reached to the night stand searching for his glasses. His hand found the unused condoms from the night before and he bolted upright in the bed. The room was empty, but Bond’s belt and pants lay on the floor where they had been discarded. Panic flooded his brain. What had he done? Surely, the booze on top of the stress from work had influenced his decision making process. He pulled his pajama bottoms on and walked into his bathroom. A towel was abandoned on the floor and his tooth paste and brush had been left on the counter. He splashed cold water on his face, opting against brushing his teeth this morning.

            He padded slowly down the hall, trying to rehearse something clever to say when he ran into James. The man was sitting on the kitchen counter, his hair glistening with water and his waist wrapped in a towel, eating his leftover take-out. Q picked up his glasses from the coffee table and tried to put them on as nonchalantly as possible.

“Good morning, Q.” James turned and threw a sly grin at him between bites of chicken. Q walked past him, reaching into a cupboard, looking for his percolator. No amount of tea was going to prepare him for today, coffee was in order. He filled the glass decanter with distilled water from the refrigerator, poured an extra heaping of grounds into the top, and turned the gas on high, all in silence. He was sure that James could hear the pounding of his heart over his own chewing He pulled a coffee mug out of the cupboard, set it on the counter, and stared into it, wishing he could make sense of his feelings. There was a reason he stayed away from people. Machines were cool, systematic, and predictable; people were hard to read, sporadic, and messy. Messy, now, there was a word to describe last night. He felt his face flush, the heat rising in his cheeks. His coffee finally boiled and he poured a mug He took a sip, burning his lip and tongue in the process.

“Damn,” Q swore, set the mug on the counter, and pressed his hand to his lip. He froze as he felt a wet heat behind him.

“Q,” James touched his shoulder lightly. “Look at me.” Q closed his eyes, trying to will the man out of existence. He didn’t want to turn around and see those blue eyes, the scars, and the disheveled, slick hair. His stomach was twisted in knots, but he slowly turned and looked into the man’s face

            The lines around James’ eyes and forehead were more pronounced now that Q’s vision was back to twenty/twenty. The wild blue of the man’s eyes had been replaced with a calmer, sadder shade. There was a scar just on the top of his upper lip that made him avert his eyes. James placed his hands on the counter, leaning into Q.

“What’s wrong?” The heat of the man’s breath quickened his pulse.

“I wasn’t expecting you to stay.” He kept his eyes on the floor, following patterns in the grain of the wood. “What happened last night was a fluke, stress, alcohol, and poor judgment combined in a toxic bouquet, right?” He felt James’ body tense, His hand hooked under Q’s chin, forcing him to look the agent in the eye.

“If you believe that for a second, I will leave now.” There was a quiet rage dancing in the man’s eyes that Q struggled to process. Messy, he thought, watching the twitch of the scar on James’ lip.

“Goddamn it.” He kissed the scar and then plunged his tongue deep into the man’s gasping mouth. The burn on his tongue ached against the peppermint and spices of toothpaste and take-out. His hands slid up James’ neck, and he pushed his fingers into the man’s wet hair. The kiss became more desperate and he didn’t want to breathe anything except the scent of this man. James pushed his arms to his sides and slowed the pace of their mouths until it was just their lips pressed together.

“This doesn’t have to be anything more or less than what you want.” Bond’s voice was quiet and stern. “You’re not a drunken one night stand. You’re a colleague and partner. Now,” James kissed his lips once more. “Pour me a cup of that coffee. I’m not looking forward to the hangover today’s going to bring.”


	3. Skyfall Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events at Skyfall, 007 is missing, presumed dead. Q, exhausted from lack of sleep, heads home in a daze.

            Q ran as fast and hard as the treadmill would let him. His heart thudded madly in his chest, but his breathing was fairly steady. Flat out in a run like this helped him get far away from any problem that he couldn’t immediately solve. He could remove himself as a factor and look at it more objectively. And the problem with Skyfall was becoming an increasing concern. 007 had taken M and ordered him to leave a digital bread crumb trail to Silva. He felt a shiver run up his spine. Silva was a loose cannon with all the knowledge and means to bring MI6 to its knees, which was exactly where the man wanted it. Bond had made no contact in two days. A door slammed behind him and he nearly tripped. He slowed the machine and shut it off, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his brow before turning to see Mallory. The man held a case file in his hand and he had an air of bad news about him. His face was haggard, clothing disheveled from being slept in, and his shoulders sagged with the weight only sadness brings.

“M is dead.” The man’s weary eyes seemed to stare right through his. “Silva is dead. Bond is missing.” Q wiped the sweat off his body in a slow, methodical state. He had heard Mallory’s news but his mind was still too far removed from the run to process the information.

“Excuse me, Sir.” Q motioned at his clothes. Mallory looked confused for a moment and then turned his back to allow him to change from running shorts into his regular attire. He noticed his hands were trembling as he attempted to button his shirt. M was dead. Silva was dead. Bond was missing. The words weren’t real. They held no meaning. He coughed and Mallory turned back around, the file in his outstretched hand.

            The devastation had Bond’s name written all over it. A bullet-ridden Aston Martin and a leveled out mansion with the skeletal metal remains of a helicopter in it were extensively photographed. He flipped through the pictures of bodies of mercenaries who had been dispatched in the chaos. Q felt his throat catch as he looked at the photos of M’s body. This was the woman of iron whose balls were bigger than that of any prime minister and there she was covered in blood. She was dead now, cold. He stifled a cry of fear and pain and turned to the next photo. Silva’s body gave him a wry sense of security. The file’s report was thick and already large chunks had been blacked out per the usual “Eye Only” protocols.

“Quartermaster,” Mallory was still staring through him, beyond him. “I need you to find Bond. The agency needs him right now.” Q choked, but pushed the fear back down into his stomach and switched his mind into gear. There would be time for pain later. Right now there was damage control to be done.

            Q took the tube home. He welcomed the silence of the late night train. The stale smell of recycled air and body odor lingered in his nostrils as he walked up the stairs into London night. His mind still seemed to be catching up with him. His movements seemed automatic. The clerk in the liquor store tried to make conversation with him, but his responses were short. A honey gold body of scotch slid into a paper bag and then into a plastic bag and he made the rest of his trip home with no distraction. The elevator ride to his floor seemed an eternity and the low tempo, sappy music leaking from the speakers only served to remind him of how exhausted he was. It had been at least thirty-six hours since he’d slept.

            Q set the bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter and leaned against the counter as the final stages of exhaustion took over. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to make it down the hallway to his room the way his knees were shaking. He looked down the corridor and cursed silently to himself, he had left the lights on when he’d left. He grabbed the bottle of alcohol and made his way to his room, but almost slipped halfway down the hall. There was water on the floor. His sleep deprived brain shook the sign away as condensation from the bottle, but went on full alert when he saw the blood smeared on the bedroom doorknob. He could hear movement. Someone was in his apartment. He turned the bottle in his hand, wielding the scotch like a club, his grip tight on the neck and entered his room.

            “You brought refreshment, how thoughtful.” James was pushing himself up off the bed with great difficulty. “I was afraid that you weren’t coming back tonight.” Q’s heart seized in his chest and he ran across the room. He had to touch the man, needed to feel his skin warm beneath his hand. James grimaced with pain under his embrace. The bottle dropped from his hand and bounced onto the bed. “Easy, easy, you’ll break a few more of those ribs.” He stepped back as angry tears began to stream down his face. He punched weakly at the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Q.”

“What happened? No, don’t answer that.” Q pushed back the tears and looked the man over. “You should be seen by medical.”

“Not tonight, pup,” James answered through gritted teeth. He was in a blood-stained white button down shirt and black slacks. “I needed to make sure you were okay before they keep me locked away for a few weeks.” He clutched at his side again. Q took the man’s hand and led him towards the bathroom. James sat himself, gingerly, down on the commode. Q cracked open the untouched MI6 medical kit and handed a capsule of morphine over to James who downed it greedily. He unbuttoned the man’s shirt and slid it off of him, mindful of each wince of pain. James stood and let him take his pants off. He couldn’t help touching the man over and over again, just to remind himself that he was real and not some figment of a dream. He turned the water of the shower to a comfortable heat and stripped himself down. James was wobbly as he stepped onto the tiled floor of the shower, but braced himself against the wall. Q tried not to let his gaze linger on the nasty blue, black, and grey shades of bruise on the man’s ribs. He ran his hand up the man’s spine, watching for any reactions of pain. There were more bruises and cuts each time he looked back. He stopped his hand short of where a bullet had grazed the man’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” The words were low, almost a whisper. Q just kissed the man’s back and wrapped his arms carefully around his waist.

            They stood together, silent save the water that washed over them, for what felt like a lifetime. Q hated hearing the labored pain in the man’s breathing, but it subdued as the morphine began to do its job. James finally turned the water off and grabbed at the towels hanging just outside the stall. Q assisted him in drying off and they made their way, slow and naked, to the bed. He threw the blanket back and James sat carefully down, wincing now and again, and then laid back with sharp exhale. Q pulled the blanket up over the man and then climbed in beside him from the other side, moving the abandoned bottle of scotch to the nightstand. He let out a sigh of exhaustion, intertwined his fingers with James’ and fell asleep.

            Warm sunlight pulled Q from his slumber. His hand was still clasped to James’ smooth calloused hands. He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping man, but there was no movement other than the rise and fall of his bruised chest. He looked at the time and sighed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept past noon. No doubt his phone would be blown up with messages from Mallory and MI6 employees looking for him. He stood and went to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Sure enough, his phone buzzed angrily in his pants pocket from the pile of clothing on the floor. He ignored it as he refreshed himself and then plucked it, as if it were some disgusting dead thing, from its hiding place and went to dress himself. He knew that he would have to make the phone call and then James would be gone, again, for God knew how long. He felt dirty and selfish for wanting to keep him all to himself. The world had done horrible things to that man and all he would do was take the hits and go right back in swinging.

Fourteen missed calls, fourteen voice messages, and one video message, Q sighed and pulled a turtleneck sweater over his head, tucking it into his grey slacks. The phone sat there, angrily reminding him that the world was waiting on the other side of his apartment door. He looked up into the mirror above his dresser. His eyes looked almost bruised from lack of sleep and his hair was an unkempt mess of curls. He slid his glasses up his nose, let out a long slow breath, and dialed a number into the device.

“Good morning, Q. Everyone’s looking for you. Mallory is fuming.”

“Hello, Miss Moneypenny.” Q couldn’t help grinning. The chaos was probably only getting worse as they desperately searched for the man in his room. “I need your assistance. If you could secure two agents from medical and one of the private vans, I have someone who needs attention.”

“Straight away, but why call me when you could have called medical, yourself?”

“Because I need someone who can keep a low profile, Bond is here. He has been for some time. The agency is in enough of a circus as it is.” Moneypenny was quiet, but then affirmed the pick-up and told him it would be about ten minutes. Q slid the phone into his pocket and let out a long, slow breath. Let the show begin.

            He watched James as he slept and contemplated rousing him, to give him a heads up of what was coming his way. Medical, interrogation, processing, leave, but Bond had been through that ringer enough that Q felt comfortable just holding the man’s hand and watching the twitches of dreams behind his eyelids. The knock came too soon and he let Moneypenny and the other two agents enter with a stretcher. Moneypenny held back as medical took care of Bond and wheeled him out the door to a service elevator. Q was surprised and relieved that the man hadn’t woken during the transfer. There would be plenty of time to talk later.

“I brought my car, if you’d like to accompany me back to the office.” She glanced at her watch. He nodded, quietly.

“Just let me make some coffee, first. Would you like a cup?” She nodded, smiling. Q went through the motions with his press, automatic and removed. Moneypenny only broke the silence when he handed her the mug.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

“What?” Q blew into the steam of his mug, trying to cool the liquid.

“Any of this, it wasn’t your fault. Silva had this planned for a long time.”

“I should have known though. Machines are my specialty. They are easy to read, simple to maneuver. Then you start adding people into the calculations and things get messy, unpredictable. Is he going to pull the trigger or isn’t he? I can run you a hundred thousand scenarios, but I could never tell you for certain because of the human factor.”

“It doesn’t help that 007 enjoys throwing monkey wrenches at protocol.” Moneypenny smiled a wry, knowing smile. “We should get back before Mallory has an aneurysm.”

 

            Mallory had carried on, but not for very long. There was too much to be done for him to be reprimanded for such a small offense. In the quiet of his office, Q checked on two of his decoding servers. The TWINS were digging deep into what was left of the hard drive Silva had left behind. He knew there was going to be next to nothing on it, but it was comforting to perform his own form of autopsy. He sat down in his office chair and wheeled it across the floor to his work table. A small arsenal lay disassembled awaiting his attention. The new palm-print coded guns were just the beginning.

            He had lost track of time when his phone buzzed from a timer. He pulled it out of his pocket and sighed. He hadn’t even bothered looking at the messages. He scrolled through the missed calls, ten of which were from Mallory and the other four were from Carl in IT. He erased the voicemails and typed a reminder to swing down to IT before he left for the evening. He opened the video message and his heart fluttered. M was fumbling with the device and swore quietly before focusing on the camera with her usual frown.

“Q, this message is on a time delay. I do not know if 007 and I will make it out of Skyfall alive, but there are things I need you to burn for me. Much of my information will have already terminated upon your opening this message. There will be an address sent to you when this message ends. There is one file for you. Destroy everything else. Silva is only the beginning. I’m truly sorry. The past comes for us in the end and mine, well, good luck. Apologize to 007 for me. No, don’t, it will go to his head.” The screen went black and the message deleted itself. A text message followed shortly after with the address. He memorized the information before a timer deleted it. He picked up one of his new Stingers. There was nothing like real world application to test a new product.


	4. M's Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q follows M's instructions to a safe house in Knockmill, only to find that Silva's attack is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in awhile. I've been dealing with family crises and trying to get ready for school. Please feel free to comment and let me know what you like and don't like and what you would like to see next from our heroes.
> 
> Respectfully yours,  
> N.

            The office was abuzz with activity, as it normally was when a double oh agent returned from the field, but most of the normal water cooler conversation was subdued with the loss of M. Q passed through, relatively unnoticed, and made his way out the service exit. He ran down the first flight, but was stopped by a slamming door behind him.

“Quartermaster,” Carl Mosley cried out, “Wait!” The man was carrying a stack of files and tripped before he got to the first step. Papers scattered as if they were snowflakes, covering the stairs. Q sighed and stooped to pick up a few of the forlorn pages. “I’m so sorry! I just needed to see you before the end of the day. There’s something wrong with the main network. It could be one of the firewalls failing.”

“Carl, there’s nothing wrong with the firewalls. I deep cleaned the system after the attack. I’ll take a look when I get back.”

“Well,” The man was scooping up papers on each step, coming closer. Q watched him, with an air of exasperation. Carl was about twelve years his senior, if he could recall from the personnel file, and had maintained his position as network systems analyst by dumb luck and poor paperwork. He had crew cut brown hair, brown eyes, and was mildly overweight. His stomach strained against the buttons of a shirt that was bought a size too small. Beads of perspiration were dabbling across the man’s forehead. He handed Q the folder, which now had pages sticking out in every direction. “If you get a chance, could you peruse these before you get back? I took the liberty of printing off what I thought would be pertinent information.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll look at it.” Q tried not to sigh again as he tucked the folder under his arm, crushing more of the papers. “Do me a favor, Carl. When you get back to your office, go to the main server, not your desk computer and print me a full diagnostic.”

“But,” He started to point at the folder and Q raised his hand to stop him.

“Is the diagnostic in here from the main server?”

“Well, no, but,” The man flustered.

“But,” Q interrupted. “The TWINS were running smooth with no hiccups, so just run one more diagnostic before I come back.” He looked down at his watch. “I’ll be back before five-thirty.” Q turned on his heel and ran down the rest of the service stairs and out into the cool air of the garage.

            Q selected a modest sedan in a blind spot from the cameras and pulled a key from his pocket. He had authorization for just about every vehicle in the garage, but his mission was unsanctioned and unauthorized. He slid the key in the lock and pressed a small button on it. He paused, letting the microchip in the key sweet talk the computer in the car. He grinned as the door locks popped open and he slid inside. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He set it to jam the GPS’ signal and drove out of the garage. He didn’t dare jam the camera signals for fear he would send the office into another lockdown. Everyone was on high enough alert.

            A light rain fell from overcast skies. The warm sunlight from midday had ebbed. Q leaned back against the driver’s seat, trying to relax, but the cool bite of metal against his back did little to ease his tension. He didn’t like being unprepared for situations, but the urgency in M’s voice was more than enough for him to forego all usual protocol. He was mad at M for a lot of reasons, for being dead, for putting MI6 in jeopardy twice now, for picking him, a pencil pusher, to do a job better left to a double oh. He had no idea what might be waiting for him at the address that kept bouncing around his brain like an angry hornet. He could focus on little else. The bustle of downtown London turned into the wooded serenity of Knockmill sooner than he anticipated. He looked at his odometer and eased his foot back on the accelerator.

            M’s farmhouse was a quaint little building, grey, one story with a shed and barn for outlying buildings. Q parked at the beginning of the drive and stepped out into the cool spring air. The gravel, still wet from the rain, crunched under his feet as he made his way up the path. He pulled the Stinger out of the back of his belt. With the Walther PPX as its frame, he had upgraded the weapon with a few toys of his own. A stun barrel had been added with an option for up to forty thousand volts. There was also a panel in the handle, which he opened to show a viewing screen. He zoomed in on the house and switched the screen to thermal imaging. He could see the flame from the pilot light on the water heater and the shuffling of a mouse nest. He scanned his surroundings, but got nothing more than local fauna. He found a spare key under a loose stepping stone near the front door and entered the house.

            Each room was empty, no furniture, not even a bookshelf or bed. Each curtain was left open just enough to let the afternoon sun illuminate the otherwise dark house. The kitchen was in the back of the house and was the only room with any furnishings. Q absentmindedly flipped the light switch and was startled when the fluorescent light kicked on. A table was set for two in the middle of the kitchen and a pot was on the stove. Nervous, he checked his surroundings again and saw the wireless cameras set up in the room. He sighed and checked each cupboard and drawer. They were all empty. The oven proved a dead end as well. He sighed and ran his finger over one of the dust coated plates. A blinking green light from the refrigerator caught his attention and he grinned. How very old school of M. He examined the machine, attempting to open the sealed door. The green light turned an angry red and a panel opened just below the icemaker. It had both retinal scanner and palm scanner. He wiped his palm off and placed it on the scanner and leaned in to look into the red light. The machine whirred as it processed his information, leaving him cracking his knuckles anxiously.

“Hello, Q.” M’s voice crackled over a speaker. “Please punch in the last eight numbers of your MI6 ID.” He followed her instructions, the light turned green, and the seal on the door opened. He pulled the door open and found himself looking at an elevator. He stepped inside and, cautiously, pushed the only button. The door automatically closed itself and the floor shifted beneath him. His stomach lurched into his mouth as the elevator dropped fast. He braced for impact, terrified that the machine had malfunctioned, but it stopped and the wall behind him opened into a concrete corridor that was lit with fluorescent bulbs. The air in the tunnel was stale from being recycled. He followed the path as it turned to the right and kept on for another six hundred feet. A service door opened, as he approached, to a spiral staircase. He ran to the top and entered M’s safe house.

            Q let out a long low whistle. Bookcases with files ran down the entire length of the barn. There were at least twenty computers, down two long tables, but only one was lit up with a video message. He strolled up and took a seat in the office chair before it and took hold of the mouse. The computer whirred.

“Ouch,” Q screeched and jerked his hand away from the mouse. A needle retracted back into the device and he stared down at the drop of blood welling in his palm.

“Sorry about that, Q.” M’s voice startled him, again. “It’s for the best. There’s a chip digging its way towards the nearest bone in your hand right now. It will latch on there and remain there for the rest of your natural life, hopefully.” Q grimaced as his hand throbbed. “What Silva did was the tip of the iceberg. There’s information coded on the chip in your hand that even I don’t have access to. So, before you go running to whoever’s in charge now, probably that pompous ass Mallory, I need you to listen to me. There are only two men in the entirety of MI6 that I trust.” She paused and the hard look on her face softened ever so slightly. “That’s you and 007. Bond doesn’t know your true identity, but if you don’t disclose that soon, he’s not going to trust you. Oh, and Q, there’s a singular file left on this computer, other than the necessary operating systems. It contains some of the information you were pestering me for. When you’ve finished looking at this file, you will have ten minutes to exit the premises before it self-destructs. Good luck, Q. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” The video file closed and there in the middle of the desktop was a file labeled “Q.” He, cautiously, placed his hand on the mouse and clicked open the file.

***

            Q felt as if the world had tilted on its axis and was pushing its weight on his shoulders. He watched smoke billow black up into the evening sky from the rearview mirror as he drove back to headquarters. He shuddered as he realized that M had handpicked him for this mission. He found his foot heavy on the accelerator, but did not let up. It was going to be a long night in his lab for sure.


End file.
